Street wolf 2: Streets of the dead
by dax0042
Summary: Skull-Face is planning to strike a blow to the city of LA, but two gangs will stop at nothing to stop him. But if they fail, the dead will feast on their flesh.


0120 Hours (Ship's Time), July 01, 2014 (Military Calender) / U.S. Cruiser Fire Storm, location 20 miles outside Los Angeles. Mission objective: Classified.

There, sitting dead in the water, was the missing cargo freighter, The Flood. It had gone dark for about six months and now Marine Captain (1st Class) Jack West was busy going over the orders that he had received from the President himself. He was not known to question orders, but this time nothing felt right. There had been reports that the terrorist group known as the Red Skulls had taken the crew hostage, their whereabouts unknown. It was not like Red Skulls to target a ship that had no value. It was going to be a nightmare to retake the ship if they were still on board.

"Status report!" West barked. "What are we dealing with?"

"Canadian cargo freighter, sir. Has about 70 crew members and can carry 400 tons," the tactical officer, Lieutenant Carwell, replied. "We believe that only a small number of Red Skull troopers now control the ship, but strangely, no demands have been made or even any radio transmissions."

A humorless grin tugged at West's mouth. Red Skulls were know to do stupid things, but that wasn't the reason why he and his unit were here. Ever since departure, the captain of the Fire Storm had been staying in the communication room and only coming out to deliver orders to his crew, then destroy them. There was definitely something going on, and whatever it was, had to do with the cargo freighter that West and his men were going to board.

A moment later, there was radio chatter as West's radio operator received only a fragment of a signal coming from the Flood, followed by awful static. "Report, Jones," he ordered. 1st Private Drake Jones cleared his throat. "I didn't get much, but it looks like the Red Skulls were trying to warn people away from the ship."

"What do you mean 'warn people away'?" West asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. Jones peered into space, fear shaking his voice. "They said 'the infected have overrun the ship! Stay away!' That's all I got before contact was lost."

West reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden locket he habitually carried, lost in thought of his daughter who died from an unknown infection. If the ship had some kind of infection on board, then his unit would be put at risk. His thoughts were interrupted by the ship's loudspeakers booming out orders for him and his unit to proceed with the mission.

Captain West tried to ignore the eerie feeling as he and his unit made their way toward the freighter, but he could not shake the feeling that this might be his last day on earth. The salty taste of the ocean's air was bitter to him. When their stealth boats approached the freighter's hull, each Marine was armed with a standard issue FN SCAR assault rifle. It was the weapon of choice for West and his men. Their sidearm was a Glock 17, but for the captain himself, he chose the SIG-Sauer P-225, which was a good 9mm pistol.

The Marines used the bow lines to climb up the side of the ship. Once on deck, they saw no signs of Red Skulls or the ship's crew. Captain West felt a chill running down his spine as he looked around the deck. There was no sign of battle, no sign of survivors, but he knew the mission had to be carried out.

West consulted a small hand comp. "We'll take the lower levels and Jones and Bret will secure the bridge."

Sergeant Hicks eyed the pointing finger and nodded. "Okay, you slackers, you all heard the Captain. Chad, take point."

Private Andy J. Barlow was toward the rear, which was almost as bad as point, but not quite. Like the rest of the team, he knew that the purpose of the mission was to locate the crew and eliminate hostile targets.

There was only one open hatch that led down below, because all the other hatches were welded shut, as if to stop any means of escape. As West followed the Marines inside, he thought how the entire situation could change if they ran into any hostiles. Unlike the Red Skulls, who killed nearly all of their prisoners, the Marines continued to take prisoners. One such individual, a crazy Red Skull trooper named Blackjack, had given himself up and revealed information about his leader, Skull-Face, the head of the terrorist group. Not meeting any resistance, however, West decided to push deeper into the bowels of the ship and see what he could find.

Slowly, Jones and Bret moved up a ramp that would lead them to the bridge. They smelled something like rotting flesh. Turning the next corner, they found the source of the smell—the body of a dead Red Skull trooper and a large pool of blood. Neither of them felt like reporting this to Captain West. Bret felt sick to his stomach as he looked at the body. There were bite wounds on his arm and what looked like a stab wound to his neck.

Jones had long ago learned to trust his instincts—and they nagged at him now. Something felt wrong. It was quiet, with only the sound of the ocean's waves brushing up against the ship to disturb the otherwise perfect silence. He was close to freaking out, but kept it together.

As the Private came to the entrance of the bridge, the door swayed back and forth lightly from the light breeze. He entered and saw another dead Red Skull trooper in the middle of the bridge. This one had his throat cut. It was clear that he had committed suicide, because there was a blood covered knife still in his hand and a laptop near his body.

Down in the lower decks, Lieutenant Carwell stood over a dead Red Skull trooper, trying to count the other Red Skull bodies sprawled around the area. Bullet holes riddled the walls and bodies, blood slicked the walls and floor. West approached from behind. "What do we have, Sergeant?"

"Looks like friendly fire," the noncom answered. "Everyone of them KIA."

West eyed the body and looked up at Carwell. "Real pretty. Friend of yours?" She shook her head. "No, we just met."

Five minutes went by before the group came across a dying Red Skull, who was trying to use a damaged radio to send out warnings to other ships. He kept saying the infected had overrun the ship. But there was the matter of finding the crew, so he put the dying man out of his misery.

"Hey, Captain," called Carwell from down the hall, "I found the crew quarters." All the Marines reached her and looked at the large metal door that blocked their way into the crew quarters. It was locked and no amount of fooling around with the keypad seemed likely to open it. "Right," West said, as he examined the obstacle. "Let's get this door open."

"I can try, sir," the Tech Specialist, Brooks, replied, "but it looks like the those Red Skulls tried pretty hard to lock it down."

"Just do it, son."

"Yes, sir," Brooks said, he pulled out his hacker rig, attached it to the keypad, and pressed a series of keys. The Marines shifted nervously, unwilling to relax. Sweat dripped down Brooks forehead. They held position for a short while, until the door opened. The Marines drifted inside.

Back on the bridge, Jones had checked out the laptop and what he saw made him realize what a mistake it was to come here—he had to warn the Captain.

Inside the crew quarters, all the Marines looked around the shadows, when something reached their ears. They heard a soft, shuffling sound, sort of like someone dragging his feet. It seamed to come from every direction at once. Then there was moaning and growling, and all the Marines began to feel nervous.

Blackjack felt like he would jump right out of his boots, but it was the rookie, Mendoza, who actually put it to words. "I've got a bad feeling about this..."

"Don't move, wait until you have a target," the Sergeant put in, and was about to give the rookie the order to pull out when a message from Jones came in over the team freq.

"Captain!" Jones voice rang out, "Don't open the crew quarters. The infected are locked inside." West looked around at the shadows. "We're already in the crew quarters," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

There was a cry of pain as a crew member rushed from the shadows and bit into Blackjack's neck. He dropped his weapon, trying to get his attacker off of him, as he thrashed back and forth.

"Hold still! Hold still!" Brooks yelled, grabbing onto the crew member's back. The crew member turned and attacked him in the same way.

West, pistol in hand, fired at every one of the attackers, but it didn't seem to stop them, until one took a hit to the head. It fell down dead, but it seemed as if dozens more took its place. He realized that Private Brooks had been correct. The Red Skull troopers had locked the door for a reason, and this was it. Just then, someone grabbed him from behind as another jumped on him from the front. The Marines were being overrun. His screams and the Marines screams echoed through the ship's hallways.

Jones had heard their screams and broke down crying. It was to late to save his unit, but at least he could warn Bret not to go down into the ship's lower decks. Jones tried to reach him, but all he got was static. That was when he heard a low growl.

There, standing in the doorway was Bret, covered in blood and shuffling toward him with two more men that were infected. Jones raised his FN SCAR and fired off one round into each of their heads. All three of them lay dead on the floor as the Private took the laptop and rushed back down to the extraction zone. Once he was a distance away from the ship, he called in a air strike on the cargo ship.

Jones watched as the freighter went down when it was hit by many missiles, but there was no time to waste, he had to show the laptop to the captain of the Fire Stone—the world had to know that the dead were coming back to life.


End file.
